Thursday, July 04, 2002

Strange Symbolism for the 4th

An eagle has bombed a car in Iran with a deadly snake. The snake went berzerk and bit everyone in the vehicle, killing two of them.

This tidbit courtesy of the fine folks at Fark, your source for the weirdest news on the net.

Wednesday, July 03, 2002

We Get Letters

Dear Happy Fun Pundit,

Al here. Look, when I said, "If I had to do this all over again, I'd just let it rip," I didn't appreciate you running over to open a window. You know what I meant. I meant that I'd been, "too scripted, too conflicted and too tightly controlled." I also, apparently, had a large board inserted in my rectum.

But that's all over now. Time to get to know the real Al Gore. He's a mad man! You have no idea how crazy I can get after a double latte' at a Greenpeace rally. I'm the Gorester! In fact, I'm thinking of a few potential image changes. Since you guys are what the cats call 'hip', I thought you could give me some advice on which one to go for:

Rastafarian Al: Hey, man. What it be? I would like to appropriate the 'dutchie', man. I'm ready to take a big inhalation of that marijuana you have there. And these dreadlock hair extensions are just marvy. (Rastafarians say 'marvy', right?) That's me. Al Gore: Rastafarian President. It be a 'cool' thing, man.

Or how about this...

Hip-Hop Al: My home-boys in the cabinet are going to kick the shiz-it out of the deficit, and bring some road-credibility back to the White House, 'bro'. Check out this rap: "I'm the man in the back, ready to attack! And the girl in the corner says Gore ain't gonna bore you! And I think I'm the passionate one!"

Okay, I sort of stole that from 'Ballroom Blitz', but that's a rap song, right? Don't make me bust a hat in your ass, homey!

If you don't like that, here comes...

'Backstreet' Al: Girl, I'm going to be president. Because girl, without you, I'm nothing. Girl. You've got to love me, girl, because I can't live without you, girl. You and me, girl, we were meant to be. Vote for me, girl, and I'll be your ever-loving love slave loving you forever, girl.

See, the 'girl' is America. It's a metaphor. Or a simile. I can't ever get those straight. Anyway, you've got to see my new dance moves to really 'get' Backstreet Al. I can do that arm-crossing finger-pointing thing the kids do. I can even shake my 'groove thing', which I think is the forearm, including the wrist.

So what do you think? Pretty good, huh? If those don't work, I've got more. You guys have to help me find the 'real' me. Because frankly, if this is it, I'm screwed.


Al 'Rappin' Gore

P.S. Don't tell Tipper about the Hip-Hop thing, okay? She's like, a nut when it comes to that stuff.

Tuesday, July 02, 2002


...And it comes from, of all people, Courtney Love. Proof once again that if you you can time the peaks of all the drugs in your system, you can find moments of great clarity, or even genius. And while this rant may not be quite the equal of "Kubla Khan", but I'll bet Coleridge wouldn't have looked nearly as sexy vomiting into his electric guitar.

The rant is called "Love's Manifesto." Not to be confused with "Mike Love's Manifesto", in which he calls for a federal program to examine the critical issue of what to do with your combover while trying to shoot a humongous tube on your boogie board. That is, assuming you were one of the Beach Boys who actually knew how to swim.

Monday, July 01, 2002

Happy Dominion Canada Day!

Happy Birthday, Canada! It's been 20 years since that unforgettable day when Canada, uh, ratified "Schedule B" to the British North America Act, which itself was enacted in 1867. Earlier, laws in Canada had been made by the Hudson's Bay Company. Thank god that changed, or today it would be illegal to shop at K-Mart, and I'd be guilty of numerous felony discount purchases.

1982 was the definitive Canadian year of independence. Who can forget those chilling moments when Canadian lawyers stood up in unison and announced that, unlike our old constitution, which required approval of new laws to be given by the British crown, unless we didn't like what the Brits had to say, Canada would now have it's very own constitution to ensure the rights of all Canadians, unless the government decided other things were more important.

Confused? Have another Molson "Canadian" beer. I am.
I Hope You Aren't Eating Supper

According to this report from Ananova, George Michael's new video "Shoot The Dog", depicts the singer dressed in a leopard-print thong, trying to have sex with Tony Blair's wife.

Thanks, George. Years of my post-Wham! psychotherapy, shot to hell.

Apparently, the song is George's way of protesting Blair's close cooperation with the United States. Makes sense to me.

No word yet on the political message George was trying to convey from the men's room of the leather palace.
Blog and Warblog. What is Warblog?

Now that we've been officially branded a 'Warblog' by the propellerheads at "WarbloggerWatch", I have to ask, "Just what in hell makes a web site a 'warblog'?" If you haven't noticed, there hasn't been a lot of actual 'war' content around here lately, unless you consider the RIAA and Sony Music to be mutant Al-Qaida cells. I mean sure, that would explain The Backstreet Boys, but we kinda doubt it.

So what is it? The fact that we started after Sept. 11? Does that make "Greg the Bunny" a "Warshow"?

My guess is that the cataloguing process goes something like this: A) You're a blog, and B) We don't like you. Therefore, C) You're a warblog, and we can pigeonhole you and treat you like a caricature rather than having to think up anything substantive to say.
WarbloggerWatch Watch

So here I was, lying in a stupiferous fog of schizophrenia, when one of my voices says to the other, "How do you get rid of the mother of all writer's blocks?"

Before the other voice could answer, a saviour rides over the horizon: WarBloggerWatch!. Oh, happy day. 'Cause there's nothing like munching on the crunchy drivelings of the ultra-serious offenderati of the left to get those old creative juices flowing.

Consider This picture, lovingly reprinted from the annals of the quality-challenged 60's. Make love, not war! This is the perfect college protest slogan. Hump a hippie chick for peace! What a brilliant masterstroke by those wacky 60's kids. Not only do you get to protest the war and avoid the draft, but you get to use lines like this: "Come on, baby! If you love your country and want to free the poor people of Vietnam, you'll go down on me like Jacques Cousteau!"

Who said those hippie kids were stupid? No, they knew what they were doing. The stupid ones are the people who look back on slogans like this and see something deep or insightful about them.

Like the humor-challenged folks at Warbloggerwatch.

Quiet, I'm Talking To Myself!

VodkaPundit thinks that Happy Fun Pundit might be Schizophrenic. An interesting idea, and one which is still being hotly debated by the voices in my head.
Now I Can Die Happy

Finally, Warblogger Watch has attacked us. I was wondering when they'd get around to us, and it was starting to make me nervous. After all, if we haven't done something to piss them off, we're not doing something right.

But jeez, guys, you had to pick "AfghanMash"? As race-baiting? Uh, okay. But please, if you're going to hate us, pick something more offensive. And something a little newer. That article was written back in the blogger Pleistocene era, fer Crissake.

Mind you, that article is set in large type with smaller words and a nice picture, so we can understand how it fits into your review guidelines.